a secret unlit room
by tasteslikemiso
Summary: He deceived himself, making her gestures into love and his promises into cages. Kira/Hinamori. You'll just sit there wishing you could still make love.


**Notes: **For **springkink** prompt: Bleach - Kira Izuru/Hinamori Momo - Washing (washing one's partner, body or hair; bubble baths; shower scenes; slave service in bath; cleaning/cleansing someone who's been raped, degraded, or who is injured) - You broke another mirror/You're turning into something you are not. Title taken from the September 21, 2005 prompt for **31_days**.

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><p><em>He deceived himself, making her gestures into love and his promises into cages. Now it's become a routine, the push and pull of their nightly affections.<em>

_Her hands wrap around his throat, softly at first and then pressing into him. This is not the girl he fell in love with, Kira thinks hazily, before her lips close up his thoughts. Hinamori had always been beautiful, and this much has not changed. Burning, always burning - her skin on his, the dark heat of her eyes not meant for him. Something in those eyes is not her own, but he can pretend it away._

_All this time of feeling, of wanting. Sweet, pretty Hinamori-kun. He still loves her, like a dream. Chases her, only to catch a shadow in his arms. He's too late to have anything else; she's come undone. Whatever she is now is perfectly good, he tells himself. Everyone has changed; after what happened, it's only natural. And he goes on making excuses for her, because Kira hasn't changed at all._

_Not so long ago, Kira would have felt vaguely guilty taking Hinamori to bed. She should be courted, not conquered: dated and doted on and given flowers and pretty things. She accepted much less than she deserved, and that bothered him more than anything. This isn't who you are, he wanted to show her. But he let her crawl on top of him instead, whisper "baby, isn't there something you can do for me" as if there was anything he wouldn't._

_This isn't who he is, he thinks as he undresses her, forgetting more of himself with every inch of bare skin. Her body opens up to him like a flower, wilted by blood and bad memories. It angers him suddenly, how easily she surrendered that purity to Aizen. He wants her furiously and everything that has ever been denied him._

Kira steps into Hinamori's room and takes a deep breath. He goes to the window, opening it to release the slightly stale air. She is sitting on the bed, looking down at her hands. A deep cut crosses her palm. This isn't lucky, he thinks, and nothing is. "I don't need you to take care of me," she says, still not looking at him.

She's not screaming or crying like she used to, begging to be let go. He misses the fire of her resistance, the proof she still believed in a life free from pain, a life free from distrust, a life free. Disgraced and stripped of her rank, she could neither be permitted to serve nor to leave. Kira remembers how she would refuse to eat, thrashing and throwing anything within reach - hurling objects the way she could no longer hurl kidou.

_Legs kicking out, sobbing and screaming, water splashing everywhere as she fought him every second. Her hair fell in her face, she stared at him balefully as he lifted her arms, too weak to resist any further. She sat obstinately in the middle of the bath, making hate with her eyes instead of her limbs. _

Aizen's betrayal had twisted her, turned her naïveté into bitterness, made her real and imperfect and finally attainable. But it was Hitsugaya's death that broke her, drove her into an emptiness Kira couldn't draw her out of. No touch or word could excite her; she didn't try to die any more than she tried to live. The spark of her joy and anger both flickered out.

She hears his voice and knows that it is time; the hand on her shoulder is more of a formality than anything. The white robe is slipping from her shoulders in a way that once could have stopped Kira's breath. Now, he sees her shoulder blades jutting out from her back like a sad parody of wings, an angel slowly wasting away.

She moves lifelessly as he brings her to the bath, not bothering to resist his touch. Warm water poured over her, suds of white soap slick on her skin. Her dark hair clings to itself wetly, plastered to her back. Hinamori had always been beautiful. He remembers her smile, despairing of her loyalty. You could still be happy, he thinks, if you had loved yourself a little more and everyone else a little less.

He opens and closes her arms, trying to negotiate the spaces of her body. He needed to find a way to her. She doesn't move or offer resistance. She made it so difficult to be strong. Eyes wide open; her gaze is dull and empty. She once burned, Kira remembers. But never for him.


End file.
